How to Stop
by ShaNini86
Summary: "When Morgan thinks long enough about the case, he knows that Hotch has to stop doing this." Just a one shot post "Devil's Night" because I got bored. Rated "K " for some mild language.


**Hi fanfic readers. I meant to post this on the Friday before Halloween, but life got in the way. It's just a one shot post "Devil's Night" from Morgan's POV. Enjoy :)**

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"_What's coming will come, and we'll meet it when it does." -J.K. Rowling- Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire  
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When Morgan thinks long enough about the case, he knows that Hotch has to stop doing this.

Running into burning buildings.

Entering a home where the unsub is armed with accelerant and a lighter.

Morgan thinks he knows, but he also understands that he probably doesn't. Seeing someone you love murdered haunts you in a way that monsters and naked-in-front-of -everyone dreams never could.

But Morgan knows that too.

On the plane, Reid is blabbering to Prentiss about his extra ticket until she finally blurts out that she'll go with him. Morgan half- expected Emily to tell the kid to "shut the fuck up," but he's pleasantly surprised when Reid grins, leaning back in his seat, as if he's predicted this appeasement all along. With the dawning that Reid knew Prentiss would give in, Morgan shakes his head and meets Rossi's amused grin. Prentiss sighs, but Morgan can tell she's interested, or happy to make Reid shut up for more than two seconds. At least, Morgan realizes, she'll learn something. Chances are, Reid will ramble on about Edgar Allan Poe, beating hearts hidden under floorboards, and a thousand other things that no one should or will know.

Morgan stands, stretches, and makes his way to their boss, who is situated by the back window. He's expecting Hotch to be staring at the dark, star-filled night sky, but he's not surprised when he sees his boss scrolling through his phone's stored images, stopping briefly on one of Jack as a small smile reaches the usually hard-lined set lips. Morgan flops into the opposite seat, watching as his boss beams again and turns his hand so the picture is facing outward.

Jack is grinning, Spiderman suit adorning his small frame. With his light hair and eyes, it's clear that he's Haley's child, but there's a heaviness swirling somewhere in his facial expression that lets Morgan know he's a mini Hotch in the making. He almost laughs, but just grins instead.

"God, he's getting big, Hotch." Hotch looks at the picture again.

"Before I know it, he'll be driving." Hotch grimaces. Morgan thinks it's odd how the man can stand toe-to-toe with some of the scariest people on the planet, but the thought of his son maturing and leaving him is the most frightening reality.

"What's he gonna be for Halloween?"

"Well, before we left for Detroit, Spider-man." Hotch begins and Morgan nods. "But he said he wanted to change it now."

"Any idea what he wants?" Hotch shakes his head no.

"Jack can be pretty creative." He doesn't acknowledge it, but Morgan hears the unspoken "like Haley."

"I'm sure it will be good." Hotch nods again. His eyes fall on the darkening night sky. They'll be landing soon.

"I was Michael Jordon for Halloween once." Morgan admits. What he doesn't say, but what he thinks Hotch knows anyway, is that it was the last time he pretended to be someone else. It was the last time he decided to play make-believe. The world was too disappointing to delve into fantasies, even if you received free candy your efforts.

"I was a CIA agent once," Hotch grins fully this time. Morgan snorts. "I wore my best church suit." Hotch is chuckling and Morgan can't help but do the same.

"Such a stretch of the imagination…" He jokes as they fall into a comfortable silence. After a while, Morgan seizes the opportunity.

"Hotch," Morgan has shifted to serious. His tone is low, so the others won't hear, but, from the sounds of their rowdy card game and Rossi swearing that Reid is cheating, Morgan knows the precaution is unnecessary. Hotch raises his gaze to meet Morgan's, but does not speak.

"You gotta stop doing this, man." Hotch remains silent, but Morgan can tell he understands already.

"Are you questioning my actions as leader of this team?" His tone is not accusing; instead, it's interested. He's opening the door, so Morgan walks right in.

"You have to stop running into burning buildings and cornering unsubs by yourself. You have to think of Jack, Hotch. What would happen to him if something happened to you?" Hotch tilts his head, catching Morgan's eye.

"He'll be taken care of, Derek. I made sure of that after…." Morgan sighs, rubbing his hand over the base of his neck. Why was he doing this? Reminding Hotch of his own morality and rubbing in the fact that his ex-wife had met her own end much earlier than she should have? Why was he reminding him of everything this job had destroyed? This wasn't what he intended, but now he's backed into a corner.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I-" He stops when Hotch's hard, even stare catches his shamed one.

"I do think of Jack, Derek." Hotch's voice is soft but his stare is still deadpan and Morgan meets it, trying to imitate a semblance of strength. "Every time I see pictures of murder victims, read headlines in papers, profile an unsub, draw my weapon… I see Jack. He's with me. Always."

Morgan nods, his throat suddenly dry. He knows what Hotch means. His father is always there too. Instead of a God, who he has a slightly fragmented relationship with, he prays to his father when things go wrong. He asks for strength. He asks for forgiveness. He asks for the absolution that will never come.

"I'm worried about you, Hotch." Morgan's tone is graveled with emotion. He watches Hotch's face, but it does not change from its set expression.

"I know." Derek does not expect this agreement, but he sees Hotch's age suddenly. The thin wisps of gray hair are in direct contrast to the starkness of his black locks. Lines edge at the corner of his eyes, and his hands are weathered in his lap. When Morgan looks closely, he sees the gnawed, stubby nail beds. It's not fair to profile members on the team, although they all do it anyway because habits are hard to break. Morgan focuses on the night and the fast-approaching ground, wondering when the impact of the job will, finally, destroy them all.

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Monday morning is sunny with a fall chill in the air that makes Morgan take an extra breath when he exits his apartment, inhaling the scent of fallen leaves and the rotten pumpkin that's splattered in the middle of the street. On his way to work, he stops at the locally-run café, winking at the middle-aged barista with a shameless bat of eyelashes. His ploy earns him a free scone, which he munches on in the car.

He's in a good mood as he swings into the BAU, sauntering towards the cluster of desks. Prentiss and Reid are already there, and he's happy to see they're holding pictures and laughing together. He's glad their happiness can boost his own.

"What's that?" He asks, throwing his fleece over the back of his chair and placing the coffee tray down. There are six steaming cups, and Morgan can't help but smile when Reid's wandering eye notices the one in the corner, which has two markered X's on the cardboard container.

"Pictures from the other night." Emily hands him one, and he laughs aloud. Reid is wearing a cape, a top hat, and squinting at the camera through a monocle. Morgan isn't sure who he's supposed to be imitating, but he doesn't ask in order to avoid the long-winded answer. Emily, looking very pleased with herself, is next to him in a skin-tight black outfit, car ears perched on top of her head with a glimpse of a tail originating from her backside.

"Nice costume, Prentiss." He raises his eyebrows, wiggling one suggestively. She rolls her eyes, snatching the picture from him. Reid, who is oblivious to their banter, finally breaks, reaching for the cup of coffee he knows is his.

"Is this one mine, Morgan?" Derek almost laughs at his hopeful look. Boy genius wants caffeine and sugar so badly his hand is twitching in anticipation.

"Yup. Extra, extra, kid." Reid grins, grabbing the cup out of its holster before Morgan can warn him it's hot. Prentiss eyes another one marked with an "M."

"Mine?" she asks. He nods, knowing she likes her coffee with milk, but little else. Rossi walks in from the elevators, stopping where the rest of the team is gathered. Morgan hands him his coffee, with two sugars and light creamer, and they all stand for a moment, discussing the weekend.

"Mmm," Reid purrs in delight. "I love coffee."

"Did someone say coffee?" Garcia queries. She's at his side now, but Morgan smelled her flowery perfume before he saw her.

"Yeah, baby girl. I got one for you too." He grins, handing Garcia the one sugar and coco sprinkled coffee, which she accepts with a bright-red lipstick smile.

"Oh chocolate thunder, you know the way to my heart." She says, patting his butt and throwing Morgan a tantalizing look before heading to her computers.

"Thanks for the coffee, Morgan." Rossi says before heading to his office too. He looks slightly bewildered by Garcia's actions, but Morgan knows he's amused too.

"Yeah, thanks. It was nice of you." Emily agrees, leaning the picture against her computer monitor so it stands upright. Something tells Morgan that it won't last a whole day.

"Yeah thanks, Morgan." Reid is leaning back in his seat with long legs perched on the edge of his desk, holding the mug between his two hands. His eyes are closed, like he's praying, and Morgan thinks that coffee is Reid's salvation.

Placing his own two-sugared cup of coffee on his desk, Morgan's gaze falls on Hotch's office. Through the parted venetian blinds, he's sees the Unit Chief hunched over paperwork. The last coffee sits untouched in its divot, and Morgan takes it. There are no markings on the side because Hotch likes it black.

"Morning," Morgan says after knocking on the door frame and Hotch notices him standing in the opening.

"Hi Morgan." Derek places the coffee on Hotch's desk. The man eyes it for a moment before reaching forward and bringing the cup towards his lips to take a long sip.

"Thanks, Morgan. I appreciate it." In the time it has taken Hotch to enjoy his firsts gulps of caffeine, Morgan notices that his desk is strewn with papers, but, on top of everything, there's a picture that looks, very clearly, like Jack.

"What's that?" He asks for the second time that morning, nodding towards the photo with an outstretched hand. How he knows Hotch will hand it to him, he's not sure, but Hotch does.

"Jack in his Halloween costume. Jessica gave it to me when I dropped him off at her place this morning." Morgan studies the young boy grinning in a suit, red tie bunched and knotted in a sloppy, but inexperienced way. If it wasn't for the smile, Morgan thought he would look just like Hotch.

"Don't tell me he was a CIA agent?" He jokes. Hotch nods no, looking at his desk before meeting Morgan's eye.

"He was me for Halloween. That's what he changed his costume to." Morgan nods again.

"I think that's better than Spider-man." He places the picture on the pine desk, and Hotch takes it between his fingers, studying it again. Hotch looks rejuvenated, and Morgan wonders how swift this change appeared. His own heart seems to be swelling in a mixture of pride and fear.

"Jack said that he wasn't a real superman…" Hotch chuckles, placing the photo down once more.

"Well, he's young." Morgan argues. "He makes mistakes." Hotch meets his eyes, smiling in a way Morgan hasn't seen since before Hayley's death, Foyet, and a million other cases that send him bolting upwards at 3 A.M. covered in a thin layer of cold sweat.

"Thanks for the coffee, Morgan."

"No problem." Morgan shares another look with the older agent before heading out the door to his desk by Prentiss and Reid. The young agent is standing above Prentiss dangling a picture over her head while she jumps trying to reach it. Reid is taller than her by many inches, and he even has a few on Morgan, but that doesn't stop him when he grabs the photo from Reid's long fingertips, sneaking it back to Prentiss.

"Hey!" Reid pretends to be upset, but he's laughing.

"Thanks, Morgan." Emily smiles and he returns the favor, sinking into his chair, and taking a long swig of coffee.

"Sorry, Reid." Prentiss says. "But this is staying on my desk."

"I don't know what the big deal is, kid." Morgan states. "It's not like you're naked in the photo or anything. It's just a costume." Reid blushes at the word "naked," and mumbles something that sounds very much like "Fine, but we'll see who does your extra paperwork for you." They're quite for a moment before Prentiss starts flinging folded paper wedges at boy genius, who retaliates with a small rocket, sending a few inexperienced agents ducking for cover.

Maybe he was wrong to tell Hotch he had to stop, Morgan debates as Prentiss chucks a balled piece of stationary straight at Reid's forehead. If Hotch wasn't their boss, who would lead the team? Morgan had been in that position more than once and it he had doubted everything he did. It had been the worst kind of doubt, the one that gnaws at your stomach and enters your nightmares as a shapeless void. Morgan had been more than willing to hand the duty back over to Hotch.

A few agents share confused glances at Reid and Prentiss, who, despite being usually composed, are acting like young children. Morgan wanted to tell the onlookers that, with everything they've seen, it's a wonder they have a sense of humor at all. For a moment, Morgan thought about telling Reid and Prentiss to knock it off, but they're enjoying themselves too much and Morgan can't bring himself to break their hearts. They see enough of that already.

Morgan watches as Reid steals the photo once more, but Emily's faster and she has him in a headlock before he knows what's happening. Reid squeals, thrashing his long arms in circles like a windmill.

"Letme go, Emily!" Most of the surrounding agents in the bullpen have stopped their morning routines to watch the battle. A few are shouting encouragements to Reid, some are supporting Prentiss, and Morgan even sees one agent hand a series of folded bills to another agent.

"Let'em go, Prentiss. Pretty boy's turning red." She grins, releasing Reid when he shoves the picture her way and stands to his full height, rubbing the back of his neck with a scowl on his delicate features.

"Ohhhh just wait," he threatens. "I'm totally not doing your paperwork now." A chuckle fans through the small crowd before it disperses.

Morgan smirks at their childish antics, leaning back into his seat while glancing at Hotch's office. He's on the phone, lips moving and forming words Morgan can't hear. Rossi materializes in a door frame where Gideon used to appear, heading for the bullpen. When Garcia leaves her computer cave, meeting Rossi at the stairs, Morgan knows they have a case.

He's wrong, Morgan realizes when he stands in unison with Reid and Prentiss, who are both suddenly composed, professional looks on their faces as they fall in step on the way to the conference room.

None of them have to stop doing this. They can't. It just wouldn't be right. They're all superheroes, he figures. At least it's nice to think of this skewed, but slightly accurate, perception of reality. When they sit in their designated, but not assigned, seats at the round table, Morgan meets Hotch's eye before the man launches forward, hurtling the team straight into another bout of blackness.

Morgan wishes Hotch would, just for a moment, acknowledge that they may lose more pieces of themselves. However, he doesn't, and his controlled tone begins the profiling, extending mayhem a bit further.

When he's done, Reid starts the discussion, spouting statistics so fast Morgan's brain spins. Rossi adds a piece of logic, and Prentiss agrees. His own voice follows theirs, adding his thoughts and ideas. Hotch tells the room to prepare for takeoff, but Morgan knows they can't really. Nothing they do or see can really be contained. It all will come back one day. In the end, they'll only have to face once another in the understanding that they did everything they could, in the best way they knew how. Until then, the fight is enough. It really has to be because that's the only weapon they have.

And Morgan realizes, despite facing the constant stream of nothingness, he wouldn't want it any other way because the best kind of fight, the one that really matters, is the one you know is right.

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End file.
